


Of Ropes, Ribbons, and Rings

by a_mind_at_work (Madame_Marauder)



Series: drips and drabbles [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate History, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, But like only Laf dies on-screen, But the kind of fluff that makes you want to cry, Character Death, Daydreaming, Everyone dies I guess, Fluff and Angst, It's Lafayette I'm sorry, M/M, Reincarnation? Maybe?, Revolutionary War is lost, So much angst, Weddings, Wow those tags tho, executions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 06:31:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11572335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madame_Marauder/pseuds/a_mind_at_work
Summary: Not as porny as the title sounds.Awaiting execution, what is left for two former aides de camp except each other and their imaginations?





	Of Ropes, Ribbons, and Rings

_ It stunk, and the floor was cold and the air was still and heavy. _

_     “Alexander?” asks a voice, and the redheaded man starts from where he's staring desolately out the window.  _

_     “Laurens,” he says numbly. “I can see who's up there.” _

_     He can hear the man in the cell next to him scramble to his feet. “Fuck, Alex, you don't-” _

_      “Shut up, it's Lafayette today, I'm trying to hear.” _

_      Laurens falls silent, and Alexander assumes that his lover is craning to see and hear the last words of their friend. He catches something like “Freedom is not a reward but a right,” and then snatches of something about “Liberty and justice.” Something in French and a wicked smile as the rope is placed around his neck, and a stubborn silence as the platform drops. _

_        Alexander rests his head on his windowsill and barks out a broken laugh. “He made a dick joke. His last words were a fucking dick joke, John. What a damn legacy.” _

_        “What else?” Laurens asks, slumping back down against the wall. “I mean, you helped write the rest, he had to be completely and utterly him somehow.” _

_       Another rasping laugh, and Laurens says, “Alex, come over by the bars. I- I want to hold hands.” _

_       They're the last ones left for several cells on either side, and are waiting for execution either way, so Alexander scoots against the wall and sticks his arm through, reaching back as far as he can, and Laurens catches his hand in his own. “Dear boy- we're not far from next. We should probably-” _

_       “Tell me a story,” interrupts Laurens. “You've always been good at that. Write us a happy ending, love. Not a brave one, or a noble one, or a honorable one- just a happy one.” _

_        Alexander blinks, and then shrugs. “Why not? _

 

       There once were two soldier-boys who lost a war. The winning side kept them prisoner, but each remained at least slightly stable, for their lovers hadn't been executed.

_ “Happy, I said happy, Alex.” _

_        “Hush, love, I'm getting there. Every story has to start somewhere, right?” _

_        “Go on.” _

       Each day at noon, two leaders of their rebellion were hung. And so a time came when the two soldier-boys were told that it was their turn, and they did not weep, for they would not die before their lovers. They stepped up to the platform, and the auburn-haired one gave an impassioned speech on why the rebellion had been only fair, and declared, “To my lover; I wish I could show you through actions rather than words the strength of my love for you.” The blond, when given the chance to deliver his final words, simply said this, “To my lover: I do and always shall adore you. To General Howe and King George the III: go fuck yourselves.”

        And the executioner saw the soldier-boys’ plight and put them within arm's reach of each other, and had their platforms dropped at the same time. The two were buried next to each other, as they were not considered important enough to be sent home.

_ “Alexander…” Laurens said softly. _

__ A tree was planted above the grave, years later, by a farmer's daughter. It was a strong oak tree, unbowing and unbreaking, just like the stubborn soldier-boys who lay beneath it. The oak grew tall and strong, and years later two boys, perhaps around 12, stumble into each other beneath its wide-spreading branches.

        “What are you running from?” asks the dark-haired boy.

        “Loneliness,” says the curly-haired one. “What are you running from, then?”

        The first boy shrugs and leans against the tree. “About the same. I'm Alex- what's your name?”

        “I'm John,” answers the other, sitting on the roots of the tree. “But you can call me Laurens if you want to.”

         And Alex laughs and sits beside him, and they talk until it gets dark and they both have to run back home to their mothers.

_ “These two have mothers, then?” _

_           “Of course they do!” _

__ As the years go by, the boys keep visiting each other beneath the oak tree. One branch has their initials carved into it, ‘L and A’ marking the highest point they've climbed to. Eventually they fall in love, and one winter's night they meet at the tree again.

          “I think I love you,” says John.

          Alex smiles at him. “I know you do. And I think I love you too,” he replies.

          “I know you do,” John agrees, and they kiss each other under the moonlight.

 

_ Alexander falls silent, and Laurens squeezes his hand. “Tell me more about John and Alex, then. What are their lives like? When are their lives?” _

_          “You'll have to help me with John,” Alexander replies. “But I'll tell you about Alex if you want.” _

_           “What's Alex’s happy ending like?” _

_           “Well... _

 

          Alex lives with his mother and brother in a small town in the United States of America, formed in the Revolutionary War that followed the Rebellion of 1776 that the soldier-boys had fought in. His father's out of the picture, but that's okay- he wasn't exactly a great person anyway.

         His mother owns a popular restaurant that he and his brother help out at on weekends. He writes for the school newsletter, and his best friend at school is named Lafayette, who moved here around nine. His family isn't that rich, but nobody ever has to go to bed hungry, and his mother doesn't get sick. And John-

_ Alexander pauses, and Laurens takes that as his cue. _

         And John lives with his parents and siblings on the other side of the woods where the oak tree is. All of his little brothers and sisters are healthy and happy, and nobody falls from anything. He's always willing to stick up for people who need him to, especially those whose families used to be slaves- because slavery is over now, has been for decades and decades. And he doesn't ever get cold.

_ Alexander lets out a breathy laugh. “Of course he doesn't. And after he and Alex fall in love, what does he do when Alex goes to college and becomes a lawyer?” _

_          Laurens clears his throat. _

         When his boyfriend goes to college, John follows and becomes a doctor, of course. He'd always wanted to help people, so he does. And then once they've both graduated-

_ He breaks off, but Alexander swoops in. _

          Then they move to New York City and get a place together. John becomes a well-known doctor and Alex becomes a famous attorney. And maybe Alex goes into the American political scene, fixes the economy so that the poor people aren't so poor and the rich people can't take advantage of them so much.

         And one day Alex gets on one knee in front of John and says, “My love, my light, my life, will you marry me?”

_ A pause. _

         “Of course I will, dear boy,” John answers, and Alex puts the ring on his finger. John tackles him in a hug, and they fall over backwards, laughing out of sheer joy.

_ “John,” Alexander asks. “I mean, we're going to die soon, so-” _

_         “Alexander Hamilton, are you almost-proposing to me from a jail cell in the bottom of a mill?” _

_          He snorts in the dim, dank cellar. “Um. Yes. So, John Laurens, my love, my light, will you sort-of-marry me?” _

_          Laurens squeezes his hand. “Of course I will, dear boy. Here, give me your hair ribbon.” _

_          “Ah, alright,” Alexander says, untying it from his hair. “Why, though?” _

_           His sort-of-fiance grins, he just knows it. “Hang on for a second, I'm trying to remember the speech- okay. With this ribbon, I, John Laurens, take you, Alexander Hamilton, to be my lawfully-ish wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part. And here, take the ribbon, we're doing this as nicely as we can, repeat the vows.” _

_          Alexander takes the offered blue hairtie and slips his own green one through the bars. “With this ribbon, I, Alexander Hamilton, take you, John Laurens, to be my lawfully-ish wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.” _

_          “I'm tying it around my left wrist, hang on,” Laurens says, and Alexander does the same. “There. Now, normally we would kiss, but considering the wall, I doubt that will happen anytime soon.” _

_          His now-sort-of-husband snorts. “But someday we will.” _

_          Laurens laughs. “Someday we'll kiss under a giant oak tree and dance on our own graves.” _

  
Alex rolls over in his sleep, and reaches for his husband's hand. John instinctively offers it, and his wedding ring with the green designs on the inside glints in the moonlight. 

**Author's Note:**

> Less depressing and totally unrelated AU to make you feel better after that shitshow: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10232981
> 
> Stop by my tumblr @discount-satan and leave kudos if you enjoyed! Or cried. That too.


End file.
